


Bleed More

by ChocoKat



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Burgh is the Goddess/Zelda, Enemies With Benefits, Enemies to Lovers, Grimsley is Ghirahim, I didn't wanna post this in the main LOZ tag so here we go, I'm so sorry, Knifeplay, Legend of Zelda AU, M/M, Maxie is Link, Maxie is trans, My friend and I love rarepairs, Not portrayed here, They eventually all get together, This is Skyward Sword central, Unhealthy Relationships, and AUs, blood warning, only implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26484172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoKat/pseuds/ChocoKat
Summary: Being Hylia's chosen hero is hard, exhausting work. And leaves one pent up. A particular demon lord offers his services.
Relationships: Arty/Giima, Arty/Matsubusa, Burgh/Grimsley (implied), Burgh/Maxie (implied), Crackship - Relationship, Giima/Matsubusa, Grimsley/Maxie, Rairpair - Relationship
Kudos: 5





	Bleed More

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally just a self indulgent, 8 google docs page long smut fic for my bestie and I's little crackship turned actual genuine otp. If you read I hope you enjoy! Maybe I'll post more if this gets a good reception. ^^

The floor of the sanctuary is warm. It thrums with energy, pulsating tremors that travel through the underground of the volcano. Maxie can feel them ripple up his spine, in direct tandem to the flowing magma that trickles through his abdomen and downward. Cold, however, is all he registers. In hand the demon holds a gilded dagger, blade tarnished black with a silver sheen. 

_And red garnish now,_ he thinks. It cuts cleanly with precise pressure, nimble fingers dragging it across the expanse of his collar, following the line of bone until it dips, forming an arch just between the curve of his pectorals. The hem of his tunic has been balled and shoved between his clenched teeth, the fabric muffling hissed breaths of pain, a stinging respite from the stabs and gashes typical of their battles. Max heaves with every shuddering breath he takes, nostrils flaring with cloying scents of salt and iron both. The heat is, while bearable compared to the rest of this place, slowly rising to an alarming swell, much like that balloon in his stomach that feels about ready to _burst._ His chest feels a similar way-- but that is another problem for another time. 

By that, he means to never address it again. He instead focuses once more on the knife's edge slicing through flesh, perfectly aligned despite the trembling of his chest. Sweat drips in annoying droplets from his hair and down his neck, sinking into open wounds. He groans, jerking taut shoulders against the sensation to no avail, his bound hands overhead leaving no room for any narrow escapes. _Though,_ a conspiratorial whisper in the back of his head chimes, if he so truly desired, Max could be freed without fight or fuss. He pushes that thought aside.

Rather than plot every possible method of escape, he pinpoints the ways in which he is left prone. His wrists are tied too tightly. Grimsley has a blade lethally close to his heart. ~~Grimsley won't kill him.~~ A deep, dark chuckle interrupts his racing thoughts.

"Aw, does that _hurt,_ little hero?" Asks a sweet, mocking voice. 

Max lunges, though uselessly as he remembers his gagged mouth, the teeth he desires to snap around the thumb circling his chin totally smothered by disgustingly thick fabric.

Grimsley has the audacity to laugh at him. 

_Overconfident, dramatic, sadistic, vile piece of moblin sh--_

The demon wipes an imaginary tear from his eye. The dagger has been set aside, probably for later use, but Max finds himself relieved to see it go. Too much at a time and he might go too far.

But Grimsley, if nothing else, is at least a man of honor. He would not kill his greatest enemy, though humiliating it would be for Max, via means of torture. No... he wants to see the Hylian hero expend his every last ounce of energy, give everything he has, only to completely and utterly _fail_ when he is most needed. How shameful, disappointing... the hero of legend falling to his knees in defeat at the hands of his enemy's _sword_ alone.

The thought makes him giddy. Glee swirls inside of him, mirthful and light, and it manifests as a manic grin across his face. Max doesn't like that look. 

And yet, when he shifts on his toes, left in a rather precarious position against the pillar used as his entrapment, he is presented with evidence to the contrary.

He grunts behind the gag. His body undulates in discomfort, attempting to find a position that doesn't strain his every muscle to exhaustion, but it is impossible. 

Grimsley continues to laugh at his expense. Max glowers.

"Oh, you're almost _cute_ in your uselessness. _This_ is Hylia's chosen one? My, I never would have believed such a thing, if not for that blade." 

Grimsley grips Max's chin in tight, curled fingers, forcing his head up.

"Look at me when I speak to you, little boy. It's only respectful to address your superior." 

Max groans. He shuffles awkwardly on the balls of his feet, caught quite literally between a pillar and a hard place. Grimsley smirks down at his feeble attempts. How pathetic...

"You know," he says, leaning down now. He lets go of Max.   
"For such an insufferable, infuriating, temperamental little thing…” The hero sags, panting.

“You certainly are easy on the eyes." Max isn't sure what he expected. 

More insults, testaments to his helpless display. 

But not... a compliment. Genuine, at that. He knows the tone of Grimsley's voice well enough to distinguish taunting from begrudging honesty. It confuses him, but he doesn't look a gift Loftwing in the mouth. Perhaps good will come of it. As much good as can be had, in this situation. 

Grimsley kneels. Just out of reach, as always, never close enough to ~~hold~~ grab. 

He ducks his head, a warmth sliding over the wounds left by that vicious steel, and Max nearly shouts his surprise. He jolts bodily, feeling steadying hands grasp and still his sides. He growls, groans, as a _tongue_ laps the blood from his wounds like a Remlit with cream.

"You taste..." Grimsley pulls away. His eyes flick to Max's.

"...Almost as divine as your little title."

Max wants to roll his eyes-- he truly does, out of something more than euphoria, _exasperation_ is more the desired intent, but he cannot help himself. Grimsley's mouth is hot, eases the ache of his wounds, alleviates the burn in his muscles with a new kind. His pants feel tight. 

He wants nothing more than to shove them from his legs, let the skin breathe, among other things, but he can barely draw the breath to ask demand that Grimsley remove them, or let Max do it himself. The demon, as though sensing this desire, lets a grin crawl across his face. 

Max knows he's in for something.

"Now, hero. Didn't your mother ever teach you manners? The _magic word,_ perhaps?"

Max growls. The taste of leather in his mouth reminds him of the gag, which he jerks his head in reference to. 

"Oh, that's right... forgot to remove the dog's muzzle before I told him to speak." 

Grimsley cackles, like he is the funniest thing he's ever heard. Max glares at him. 

Grimsley reaches ever so casually to touch his cheek, thumb with a pointed nail over his jawline, lingering a heartbeat too long before he yanks the makeshift gag free without consideration for his teeth, which Max would prefer to keep inside his mouth.

 _"Ow,"_ Is the first word to tumble from his mouth. Grimsley looks beside himself with joy.

"Shut the fuck up. You son of a bitch... sadistic motherfucker,"

Grimsley has the gall to look shocked.

 _"Language._ You kiss your beloved goddess with that mouth?" 

Max grits his teeth. They could crack beneath the pressure, he is so _angry,_ but rather than burst the blood vessel in his temple he forces himself to take a long, deep breath. One that doesn't taste like heat and volcanic ashes.

"Grimsley," He hisses out. "Touch me." 

The demon ponders, hming and hawing for a moment. Then shakes his head.

"I'm afraid not, little gingerbread... After all, I cannot inspire such barbaric behaviors such as _not_ saying please and thank you."

Maxie wants to kill him. At all times, but now more than ever. He hates this.

"...If you expect me to beg..." He begins dangerously. 

Grimsley shakes his head. "Only a _please."_ Max eyes him warily. Grimsley smiles. 

It looks wrong and vile and makes Max's stomach shift with something discomforting. That hand returns to his cheek. 

"Only one little please. Then you get what you want. A simple exchange, no?"

Max shies away from the touch, closing his eyes in deep consideration. Does he really want to do this? _Really_ want to?

"...Grimsley," He says begrudgingly. _"Please_ fucking touch me. Please!"

He spits it out a second time, just for good measure. Grimsley can barely contain his bark of laughter. But as promised, there are hands on his face, then neck, gliding downward. A cool reprieve from the sweat seeping from his every pore. Max sighs shakily.

"See, now was that so hard?" Grimsley coos. 

_Harder than anything I've ever done,_ he thinks. But keeps it to himself.

"Shut up." He grumbles, pushing his hips out. "My pants. They're too hot, take them _off."_

Grimsley looks so genuinely surprised by his forward demand that it's Max's turn to laugh. 

"What? Nothing of your sick doing... we _are_ in an active volcano."

Grimsley considers him a moment. Then in a snap, Max finds his pants have disappeared from his person, and he jolts with confused shock. Another low chuckle. 

"Anything I so desire, I can move it around at will. I imagine your trousers… well, they've ended up _somewhere_ around Eldin. Oops, that was my bad."

He says, sounding none too apologetic. Max only grumbles, mildly put out by this inconvenience. It isn't like the Mogmas could see anything important, or that the Moblins care. 

If anything maybe he would benefit without the damn pants. Too hot.

"Now hold up your end." He mutters.

Grimsley wastes no time. His hands are on Max's hips, tugging them closer, flush with his own. Max can feel the pressure of the demon's _excitement_ against his inner thigh. Max almost comments, but quickly remembers his situation and holds the thought, tucking it beneath his tongue for later. Like protecting a secret. 

Grimsley breathes in the heavy, earthy scent of the Hylian, the smell of ash and charred grass that cling to his clothes with the underlying cloying musk of his arousal brimming at the very edge of his senses. For a moment, he nearly sways, taken by so many things at once about this stupid, angry little Hylian. But he centers himself, brows pinching in a scowl. He shouldn't be so easily distracted this way. He should kill Max and be done with it. And instead… 

Grimsley trails a hand down the trembling, tight muscles of a strong thigh, reveling in the way it spasms under his touch. He smooths over the clammy skin in circles, losing count of the laps, before finally getting to the point-- his thumb brushes an engorged clit, and Max gasps. 

Grimsley applies more pressure. Max stiffens, melts, over and over in rapid succession. His position makes it impossible to completely relax, and that's just how Grimsley wants it. Max shouldn't feel safe, shouldn't feel comfortable. _And yet._ Grimsley pulls him closer. 

Hooks those legs around his hips, relenting some of the crushing weight from the boy's undoubtedly tired ankles. Max goes rigid, looking as though he may go on the attack. Before Grimsley can make a snide remark however, he relents. 

Goes slack in his grasp, exhaling slowly, a long huff through his nose. 

"Well now… comfortable, gingerbread?" He mutters.

Max grunts. Yes or no could easily apply. Grimsley takes it as the former. The pad of his thumb presses to that sensitive nerve yet again, now rubbing it up and down, side to side, with the care of someone who cannot _afford_ to care. Max shivers over him. Eyes twitching with desire to close, to let Grimsley handle the rest, but oh no… the little knight is stubborn. 

Grimsley should fix that up. Two more fingers join the first, his wrist turning ever so slightly to accommodate the shift, nails like talons slipping seamlessly between pink lips. 

_Wet_ would be a severe understatement. It slips down his knuckles and over his palm, sticky and clinging, and he's almost surprised. Was the little hero really _that_ much of a masochist? 

Surely, that couldn't all be from the knife _alone._ He can't believe it for a moment. 

Then he remembers the knight's situation, the cruel destiny that lies ahead-- and it takes a hard swallow to stop the pitying laugh. There is no room for feelings in his chest. 

No room for an incessant, nagging redhead with freckles and brutal determination to see him through the worst of ordeals. No room for _anyone._ Of course Maxie is a masochist. 

He has to be, to bear his heavy fate.

Grimsley takes some of that burden. Into the palm of his hand, the tops of his thighs, the hero practically in his lap. His fingers slip inside, admittedly unintentionally, but he doesn't complain. Not when it draws a low, keening moan from those chapped, tight lips. Not when it prompts Max to grind into the palm of his hand, awkwardly trying to force them deeper, to move at all. Grimsley huffs a chuckle through his nose, humoring the poor thing for now, clearly pent up. Needy. Max doesn't care about decorum, saving face, he wants to fucking _cum._

His eyes fall shut, and he can feel them roll to the back of their lids, like a contented animal. It feels good. So fucking good. He can only get so far at the academy, what with a strict regime, curfew, rooms divided by only a sheet of _paper._

Those few, quick lays in between classes had been the only action he could get, with the limited options available to him in potential bachelors. 

Of course, the one he _really_ wanted was off limits. And now? He couldn't be certain of their potential, should it exist in the first place. He really should be angrier, taking into account that the man before him is responsible for such a future, but he can't muster the energy.

"Hmm… Saving the world certainly works up a voracious appetite, does it not?"

Grimsley clicks his tongue, feigning sympathy for Max. The man ignores him.

"And no one to help your little problem… Poor Max. I know exactly which of your little goddess-fearing comrades you wish I were, right now. Whose hand you would prefer it be, fingers plucking you like the instrument of divine justice that you are." 

Something familiar writhes in his chest. A cold, slippery sensation of _bitter jealousy._

Grimsley ignores it. Mostly. It slips out, just a little. 

"But I am not one of those pesty, gadfly servants of the goddess. And you are in _my_ grasp, little hero. No… you will learn."

Grimsley's fingers curl quite aggressively. In turn the Hylian folds like a puppet controlled by strings, the sound ripped from his mouth like music to the demon's ears. Max trembles, breath sparse, heavy. Grimsley revels in the sight.

"You will learn that I _own you."_

Max bites his lip. Those teeth draw blood, they sink so hard into flesh. Grimsley realizes quickly that he has found a chink in that armor of his. One of many, all easily exploited. With a thoughtful, slow stroke of his fingers, the demon leans closer, breath hot on Max’s ear.

“You are none but a servant. I may be a weapon, but you are just a tool. I have use, long after my greater purpose is fulfilled. But what about you then, hero? What happens to you after the goddess has tired of your failures? Will you return to your little heaven with him? Court him?”

Grimsley huffs. Humorless, cruel. Max slackens in his embrace, hands straining to hold onto something, anything. He’s slipping. The knight is falling apart sooner than first anticipated. He gets off on his own torture. What a sad fate he has resigned himself to. But luckily for Grimsley, it is all the more entertaining. 

"Is this how the great hero of the goddess meets his end? Writhing on my hand, struggling for his every last breath?" 

Grimsley doesn't bother to hide his pride.

"Let us wrap this up, then. Finish yourself off, little boy, I haven't the energy to deal with your incessant whining. Go on."

Max opens his eyes. Red, the color of the deepest, darkest garnet. Like blood itself.

They stare into Grimsley's own blue. And he wonders how a man of such holy favor ended up looking the exact opposite. 

They search for something. Whether it be pity, annoyance, Grimsley isn't certain. In all fairness, neither is Max. He rises, tugging with what little strength remains in his shoulders to help lift his torso, rolling his hips down over Grimsley's palm. The movement is weak, growing sloppier by the minute, but the Hylian doesn't appear to care. Grimsley can at least admire his determination, even in these circumstances. He wondered how much further that persistence would go…

Max freezes. His every muscle tightens, his mouth opened in a wide _O,_ tremors wracking his frame in an uncontrollable seizure. The sound he makes could be mistaken easily for pain, but Grimsley knows better. He knows what Max's pain is like. But somehow… this is better. 

"There you are. What ungodly, lovely noises you make… Gorgeous."

Grimsley coos, stilling the man's hips. He can't bring himself to dislike that he means every word. Not now, in the heat of such a moment. Max crumples sadly.

Grimsley pulls his fingers free. Max groans, as though mourning the loss. The demon takes his warm, overheated face into one hand, then the other, thumbing over his skin until the focus returns to his eyes. He nods approvingly, smirking.

"There you are. Would be such a shame if you were to die to such humiliating means, wouldn't it? Now get up."

He drops Max's head, letting it fall, and finding it is now his own turn to grieve. 

Inconsequential. This was just for his own amusement, for something to do, and it appeared his little plaything had no complaints. Chin tucked to his chest and arms limp overhead, Max was a mess. Grimsley burned the image into his memory. Rising, he chuckled, turning with a flourish of fabrics. Max looked up at him with a weak bob of his head. How pathetic.

"With that, little hero… I must be going,"

He said, glancing over his shoulder now.

"Think nothing of this little exchange."

With a snap, Grimsley disappeared. After a duration, Max realized the restraints were also gone. He sat for a moment longer, exposed and exhausted, before sitting up and struggling onto shaking legs. Grimsley had left him to clean up the mess-- literally and metaphorically.

Some things would, at least, never change. 


End file.
